


Ar Lasa Mala Revas

by nettlebird



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Mentions of past dom!Trevelyan and sub!Solas, Oral Sex, Smut, Sovelyan, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, dom!solas, light angst because that's just how Solas is, many liberties have been taken with Trev's backstory, more tags to be added as necessary, poor Trev is vastly overworked, sub!Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlebird/pseuds/nettlebird
Summary: “I hope the meeting was as productive as it was lengthy,” Solas says, setting the tankard at her elbow with a quiet clunk.Kira puts her face in her hands and groans, softly. “Maker, I wish.Thisnoble wants us to throw the weight of the Inquisition behind his side of a property spat or he’ll stop supporting us.Thatarlessa wants to give us soldiers, but she has conditions.Thisbannorn needs us to investigate rumors of whatever and Leliana and Cullen decide to argue about the best way to do that for ten minutes andIhave to break them up."--The Inquisitor has borne the weight of the responsibilities the mark thrust upon her with grace and poise that Solas often finds himself surprised by, but after a particular grueling day at Skyhold, Kira Trevelyan asks Solas to assume the task of deciding. At least for the night.





	1. A Release of Control

**Author's Note:**

> "Ar Lasa Mala Revas" is, of course, what Solas says after removing the vallaslin from a romanced Dalish Inquisitor. Here, Solas is giving the Inquisitor a different kind of freedom.

Solas is lounging in a plush chair, half-finished with one of the novels the Inquisitor scatters around her room like so much confetti, when the meeting in the War Room finally ends and Kira Trevelyan ascends the stairs with heavy steps. He slips a scrap of parchment between the pages to mark his place—its one of Varric’s more ridiculous books, and clearly a favorite of Kira’s due to its well-thumbed pages—and watches as she slips past him with little more than a wave in his direction. Solas sees more of her red hair, coming loose from the braid down her back, than he sees of her face.

She goes immediately to her washroom and heats a basin of water with a flash of magic, washing her make-up and the day’s grime from her skin. Her cheeks are flushed a rosy pink from the heat when she leaves the washroom, but she still looks so much paler without her customary rouge and so much wearier without her lipstick or kohl. There is tension carved into every line of her body when sits down at her desk.

Solas sets down the novel and takes one of the tankards the servants sent up with dinner to her, crossing the room to her side. “I hope the meeting was as productive as it was lengthy,” Solas says, setting the tankard at her elbow with a quiet clunk.

Kira puts her face in her hands and groans, softly. “Maker, I wish. _This_ noble wants us to throw the weight of the Inquisition behind his side of a property spat or he’ll stop supporting us. _That_ arlessa wants to give us soldiers, but she has conditions. _This_ bannorn needs us to investigate rumors of _whatever_ and Leliana and Cullen decide to argue about the best way to do that for ten minutes and _I_ have to break them up. _These_ papers need approval and signatures and _this_ report needs immediate review and a strategy for moving forward and _that_ decision I made last week had _these_ unanticipated consequences.” She groans again more loudly and rubs at her eyes. “I think my head is going to burst.”

“Have something to drink,” Solas advises, smoothing a hand over the crown of her head. “I will bring the food to you.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and reaches for the tankard. “Is there pie? I asked the cooks to send up pie.”

“There is pie,” Solas assures her, bending to kiss her hair. He returns to the sofa and gathers the tray of food. “Two kinds of pie, in fact.”

Kira takes an audible gulp from the tankard. She sighs, relieved. “Maker bless Fereldens and their obsession with putting things in pastry.” She moves aside a pile of papers so Solas has a place to put down the tray. “Have you eaten?”

“I waited for you,” Solas says. He drags a second chair over to the desk, wincing slightly as the wooden legs scrape audibly on the stone floor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kira smiles. She takes her boots off while gesturing for him to begin eating, taking up a fork immediately afterwards and digging in with him. “How was your day?”

“I spent the morning running some of the mage recruits through training exercises and the afternoon reviewing the last set of veil measurements we received from the Hinterlands scouts,” Solas says, explaining the apparent strengthening of the veil around the artifacts they scouted and activated there months ago. The progress of restoring the veil in some places is proving to be more difficult than Solas has anticipated, and he explains this, too: “Areas where there has been battle, bloodshed, or great emotion are ones in which the veil proves harder to mend.”

Kira hums, spearing another bite of kidney pie on her fork. “The veil is already thin there, so it would be like trying to patch a threadbare sweater. I imagine most of the Hinterlands are like that, with the mage and templar presence there during the rebellion. And I’m sure Alexius’ stunt didn’t help things.”

“It did not,” Solas acknowledges.

Kira frowns and eats a little more, clearly thinking. She says, “Do you remember that broken artifact we found? I can’t remember where, but it’s at one of our camps. I wrote it down somewhere.”

Solas raises his eyebrows. “I recall.”

“What if—” Kira stops, cuts herself off and rubs her eyes. “Could you reverse-engineer those artifacts if I got the broken one for you to study? You know how they work when they _work_ , maybe the broken one would help you make new artifacts. Strengthen the veil a little more.”

Solas feels chilled, suddenly, despite the heat of the room from the blazing fire in Kira’s hearth. He has thought of the veil for so long as a temporary measure, a barrier to be torn down at the slightest chance: it had not bothered Solas to strengthen it with his existing artifacts while they tried to stop Corypheus, as the faltering veil could only hinder their progress and advance the would-be god’s. But creating new artifacts? Strengthening further that which he seeks to destroy? It feels like a terrible deception, to agree to do such a thing for Kira Trevelyan knowing his plans for the future have not altered, not truly.

Thinking about his plans at all around Kira makes Solas feel sick. He takes a breath and lies, “I am afraid I would not know where to begin in creating these artifacts.”

“I’ll get you whatever materials you need, just—” she lowers her hand and gives him a tired smile. “Would you try? Please?”

“Of course,” Solas says, his heart heavy in his chest.

“Thank you.” Kira chases the last few crumbs on her plate with her fork before trading it out for her plate of desert pie, rich with nuts and fruit and sweet syrup. She sighs over it for a second, pleased, and eats quietly as if sensing the change in Solas’ mood.

Solas makes a concentrated attempt to gather himself together and shake off his melancholy, though it seems to take a few minutes, and he takes the time to finish his food while he centers himself again. He smiles at Kira, setting her fork down on her own empty plate, and reaches out to run a finger softly down her temple.

Kira tilts her face into his hand, and Solas flattens his palm to cup her cheek. Softly, she asks, “Are you alright?”

“I feel as though it should be I asking that of _you_ , ma vhenan.” Solas lets his hand trail down her neck, drawing her braid with it over her shoulder. He tugs on the tie securing her hair and begins, raising both hands to the task, to part the strands of her braid.

Kira narrows her eyes. “That isn’t an answer.”

Solas laughs, caught in his evasion. “I am well, vhenan. Given your many burdens I would ask that you avoid searching out more to shoulder.” Satisfied with his progress with her hair, Solas begins carding his fingers through it. “Are _you_ well?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling a little when she says, “I’m better now that I’m with you.”

“Sweet talker,” Solas smirks, teasing her, and draws Kira into a kiss. She smiles against his mouth, resting a hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. Solas sweeps his tongue over her bottom lip and she makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat, parting her lips for him. He licks into her mouth, running his tongue along hers until she shudders and clutches him closer. They trade more chaste kisses for a moment, his hands trailing down her body to grasp at her hips.

Kira moves her kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, lining up kisses until she’s pulling at his earlobe with careful teeth and making Solas swear into the empty air. Solas holds her hips more firmly, ready to coax her into his lap, and there is a knock at the door. The sound only barely registers over the sensation of Kira kissing the spot just below his ear, but the second knock is louder and Solas cannot help but groan.

She joins him, at least, in irritation. “Coming!” She calls, to prevent their visitor from barging into the room, and places one final kiss on Solas’ lips. There is a third knock, and Kira lets out an impressive stream of curses as she stands up from her chair and stalks toward the door, ending on a particularly vicious “Fen’Harelhedis _lasa_ ,” that challenges Solas’ ability to keep a straight face. Kira opens the door and ushers in a woman in scout’s clothing, holding a scroll.

Kira brings her up the stairs and stands just beyond the threshold, her hands migrating to her hips. “Report, agent.”

The agent’s codename is Smoke, if Solas’ memory serves—human, short, with shrewd eyes, brown hair, and rosy cheeks. She holds out the scroll to Kira, her eyes barely flicking over Solas still seated at Kira’s desk. “Nightingale needs a decision on this immediately, ser.”

Kira stares at the scroll in Smoke’s hand and an expression briefly crosses her face indicating she’d like nothing more than to curse another blue streak. She sighs, instead, and takes the scroll, breaking the wax seal in an easy movement. Solas watches her face as she unfurls the scroll and rapidly reads its contents, sees how her eyes tighten at the corners and how her posture slowly, subtly, starts bending in on itself.

She looks like she had when she first returned to her rooms. Their shared dinner had brightened her countenance considerably, but as her eyes track over the writing in the report she dims and dims. She finishes the report and reads it over again. Concluding her second read-through, Kira pinches the bridge of her nose, pressing her fingers into the inner corners of her eyes briefly, asking, “Leliana needs a decision on this _now_?”

“That’s what she said, ser.”

Solas’ protective instincts flair—Kira looks so tired, so weary with the world, how dare it ask for even more of her when it already demands so much? He cannot remove the anchor from her hand or lift the majority of her responsibilities from her shoulders, but he _can_ do one thing: Solas stands and walks slowly, casually, to Kira’s side. “Sister Leliana can make due with a morning response.” Solas says, firmly and with a slightly rude touch of irritation, addressing Smoke.

Kira’s eyes snap to him, lips parting in what Solas is almost certain is a rebuke for overstepping his bounds, but her gaze is soft. Some of the weariness has melted off her tired features. She presses her lips together again, thoughtful.

As Kira considers him, Smoke raises her hands slightly in an appeasing gesture. “I only know what I’ve been told.”

The Inquisitor’s gaze swings back to Smoke. “I appreciate that, agent. Solas is right, though, this can wait until morning.” Kira says. She gestures with the scroll. “I’ll bring my decision to Leliana personally after breakfast. Thank you for your diligence. Dismissed.”

Smoke salutes, pressing her fist against her chest, and turns immediately to leave the way she came. Kira hands the scroll to Solas and follows Smoke out, locking the door to her chambers once the agent is safely on the other side. He hears her sigh before climbing the stairs again, and when she steps off the top step again she makes for her plush bed.

“Thank you for that,” Kira says, shooting him a small smile. She leans back on her hands for a moment, seated on the bed. “I think I might have just jumped back into the work again if you hadn’t said anything.”

“I am pleased I could be of assistance,” Solas says. He holds up the scroll. “What would you like me to do with this?”

Kira lets her hands slip out from supporting her and lays back against the bed, twisting to put her feet on top of the covers as well. She drapes her forearm over her face, covering her eyes. “Read it, and offer me counsel. I’m not really sure what to do with it, if I’m honest.”

Solas considers the scroll in his hands. “I will do so. But not until morning, vhenan.”

“Good idea,” Kira says, soft again. “Leave off being the Inquisitor until the morning.”

Would that it were so simple, but Solas is glad Kira is allowing herself a moment of peace. He smiles a bit at her, though she cannot see it. “Shall we simply be Solas and Kira tonight, ma sa’lath?”

“I don’t want to make any more decisions today,” Kira says, rather than answering directly, lying limp on the bed with her arm over her face. “I want to have sex with you and want us both to finish, and then I want to go to sleep, but I don’t want to be the one in control.”

Solas hums and sets the report on her desk, walking slowly to stand at her bedside. Kira has fulfilled that role for him before more than once, positioning him as suits her and taking her pleasure from his body, letting him fall into the haze of mindless pleasure that lets things like his history and his plans and the anchor on her hand fall away. She has wiped away the pressures he finds himself under with loving hands and made him ache with the singular purpose to do _exactly_ as she tells him. Solas understands well the appeal of surrendering control to a lover, but Kira has never asked _this_ of him before.

Kira holds tighter to her control when pressure overwhelms. It is a fundamental difference in the way their minds operate that constantly fascinates Solas. He did not realize quite how true his statement rang when he teased her all those months ago about her _indomitable_ _focus_ , but Kira has, to this point, refused any sort of submissive role with a determined stubbornness.

Still, though she may not have asked for this _before,_ she does now. Solas reaches her bedside and lets his eyes rove freely over her body. Her tunic has ridden up, revealing the pale stretch of her soft stomach above her trousers, and Solas’ eyes fix on it. “Shall I command you, then? Exercise my will upon you and demand you do exactly as I bid?”

Kira settles against the mattress a little, her body relaxing into her sheets as it hadn’t since she came in and lay down. “If you like. I’ll still say no if I don’t want to do something.”

Solas leans over her and lightly touches her exposed stomach, runs the same hand up her bicep after that soft touch. Solas gently trails his fingers against the arm she’s using to hide her face. He says, voice kind, “Shall I punish you, then, my disobedient heart?”

Solas only notices that her breath catches because he watches her for it. Her voice is much softer when Kira says, “If you like.”

“Good girl,” Solas says, his voice lowering in his approval, his arousal surging when the praise makes Kira shudder. Solas takes hold of her wrist and gently brings her arm away from her face.

Kira keeps her eyes closed. She does not see the way Solas’ face softens at the wet lines of tears leaking from the corners of her eyes to the sheets behind her head. “Oh,” Solas breathes, raising his other hand to wipe away the evidence of her silent crying, “ma sa’lath.”

“I’m fine,” Kira says, immediately.

She isn’t, of course. Solas doubts she’s been _fine_ for more than a handful of hours at a time since her ill-fated trip to the Conclave. Kira Trevelyan does an admirable job of hiding it behind diplomatic speeches and devastating examples of her Knight Enchanter training, but she’s never been able to quite hide it from Solas. Knowing the brave face she puts on among the soldiers and scouts of the Inquisition, Solas suspects that she’s never really _wanted_ to hide it from him.

Solas shushes her gently all the same and bends over her further, kissing each of her temples. “None of that. You need not be strong here, ma vhenan.”

Kira nods, staying silent, and Solas tips his forehead to hers. He takes a moment to breathe, thus connected. Solas could spend hours like this, pressed gently against the woman he loves, taking strength from her as she takes it from him. He tilts his head a little to run his nose along hers, nuzzling her face, his hands coming up to frame her cheeks. Solas feels the twitching muscles in her face between his hands when she smiles, and he presses a soft kiss to her lips.

Solas draws back enough to consider her, pleased when her eyes open to watch him. He strokes a thumb against her cheekbone just beneath one of her lovely green eyes. Solas says, soft, “You will be silent unless I ask you a question, am I understood?”

“Yes,” Kira murmurs.

“What is your watchword?”

Kira pauses, thinks on this for a moment. Then she smiles and says, “Inquisitor.”

Solas smiles. “Are you ready to serve me, ma vhenan?”

“Yes.”

He feels a surge of arousal, then, staring down at her on the bed, and he considers what his first command should be. “Sit up, ma sa’lath,” Solas says after some thought, and offers her a hand to assist her. Kira takes his hand and sits up, watching him expectantly all the while. He kisses her again, lingering against her soft lips.

He draws away, watching her face for a reaction, and Kira’s eyes flick immediately to his lips. He smiles. Solas takes hold of her hip and turns her bodily, drawing her legs off the side of the bed. He pulls her into another kiss, more forceful this time, drawing his teeth against her bottom lip immediately in the way he knows makes her whimper and clutch at him. He rewards her when she does by sliding his tongue against hers until she makes a soft, desperate noise into his mouth.

Her blunt nails dig into Solas’ sides through the fabric of his tunic, grasping without pulling him closer. Kira has put Solas in this very same position enough times that she knows exactly what she is allowed, knows that taking more than Solas has decided to give her would result in the same sort of swift punishment that she’s exacted from him in the past. Solas twines one hand in her hair and pulls lightly, breaking the kiss as he encourages her to bare her throat to him.

He takes a moment to breathe and consider her. She moves for him so easily, pliant in his hands, and part of Solas thrills at having one of the most powerful women in the world so willing to move as he bids her. It is not so much a feeling of possession—there is none alive that could ever possess Kira like some kind of beautiful trinket, and Solas would not want to, besides—but more a deep sense of appreciation for her, for the trust she has in him, for the understanding they have of each other. He is nearly overwhelmed by her and his affection for her.

Kira closed her eyes during their kiss and Solas admires her for a moment without her gaze on him, letting his eyes linger on her soft lips and her mussed red hair. Her bare face is flushed lightly, a warm pink glow on her cheeks just behind the smattering of freckles on her skin. With his free hand he presses his thumb against her plush bottom lip, stroking it gently until Kira’s eyes finally open and she looks at him. Her pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the ring of green around them.

Solas finds himself pleased that she seems to like to be kept waiting about as much as she enjoys making _him_ wait.

Kira parts her lips and Solas takes his hand away, fitting it instead lightly around her throat and bending his mouth to her again. He kisses her hard, bites at her mouth and soothes the small hurts with his tongue, and trails a series of kisses from her mouth down the side of her neck where Kira cries out when he touches her. His hand on her throat stills her, applying enough pressure that Solas can feel every twitch of the muscles of her neck when she swallows, and he holds her steady while he sucks and laves his tongue against the spot where her shoulder and neck meet.

Kira shudders against him, wordlessly moaning, and the arousal that has been building low in Solas’ stomach finally ignites enough to make the strain of his cock against his tight leggings unbearable. He gives her soft skin one last playful nip and steps away from Kira entirely, clasping his hands behind his back.

Kira, suddenly lost, opens her eyes and blinks up at him with a furrowed brow. She opens her mouth as if she intends to argue with him, to draw him back to her, and Solas says nothing. He does not react. He will allow her to disobey him, if she likes, and extract punishment afterwards. She has done this to him before, seen him struggling with a rule she has presented and offered no guidance for complying with that rule. Kira and Vivienne have a colorful phrase that Solas knows must be a common one in the culture of the Circle that feels apt, here: Solas will give Kira just enough rope to hang herself.

His lover seems to remember herself in time, however, and presses her lips together again. She tilts her head to one side and looks up at him with a mixture of curiosity and burning want, and Solas finds himself both proud of her for remembering his instructions and disappointed he has no reason to bend her over his knee.

Not yet, at least. The night is still young.

“Undress,” Solas says, with a smile, “and kneel at my feet.”

Kira pulls her soft blue tunic over her head and stands, holding it out in front of her. She raises her eyebrows and darts a look from the tunic back to Solas, something amused in the corners of her mouth and the light dancing in her eyes.

Solas raises his own eyebrows. “The floor will do, vhenan, though I find myself in a mood to consider your cheek nearly worthy of punishment.”

He would not say that the look she gives him is particularly contrite, but she lets the soft material slip through her fingers and pool on the floor. Solas watches with an affected lack of interest as Kira unbuttons her trousers and bends to peel them down her legs, bringing her smalls with them and leaving her bare from her toes to her breast band. Kira kicks the pile of clothes away and meets his eyes, her fingers migrating behind her back to navigate the closures on her Antivan-style breast band. She lets this fall to the floor too and stands, naked, while Solas drinks the sight of her in.

She is beautiful, though Solas has not always thought so. Her body is still soft even after months of hard living and fighting and rationing while on the road with the Inquisition, the tone of her limbs and the crisscross of scars from their adventures the only real evidence she carries that those same adventures ever occurred. He thought her weak because of her plump stomach and her soft features when she first awoke with his anchor imbedded in her palm, but he learned the truth of her quickly enough. Kira is strong—physically, certainly, but in other ways as well. Strength of character, strength of conviction, the strength one must have to extend a hand in compassion even when the world wants little more than to condemn her every action. She taught him that in his centuries of watching the world bend and change during his slumber, Solas forgot what true strength was. He never thought that he would need to learn such a lesson again, much less at the hands of a quick-child in possession of his own power, but he learned it.

Kira kneels, folding her legs neatly beneath her, and Solas pulls himself out of his own thoughts. She stares up at him, waiting.

Solas unclasps his hands from their tense position behind his back and unravels his leg wraps with a touch of magic to make whatever decision he makes after this next one easier to execute. He takes his tunic off and lets that join the pile of Kira’s clothes just beyond the two of them. The motion and the flash of magic has lowered Kira’s attention from his face to the bulge in his leggings, and Solas allows one of his hands to fall to the top of her head and rake his fingers through her red hair. She gasps at the feeling of his nails scraping against her scalp. “I want your mouth, ma sa’lath.”

Kira needs no further encouragement: her hands find his hips immediately, peeling his leggings down off his legs. The relief Solas feels when she tugs them past the hard line of his cock is exquisite and immediate, made only better by how Kira works one hand into his smalls to wrap around him while the other grabs hold of his undergarments and drags them down and away. She works her hand along his cock, careful of how the calluses she has across her palms from wielding a staff might catch and rasp against his sensitive skin, looking up at Solas as she touches him. Kira rises up on her knees to put her face at the same level as his cock and leans forward to kiss it, pressing her plush lips against the underside of his head.

Solas tightens his grip on her hair just slightly, pulling a little, and the hot sigh of Kira’s breath ghosts over his aching cock. Solas groans at the unintentional tease before Kira moves forward again and wraps her lips around the head of his cock and Solas loses all sense of anything beyond the wet heat of Kira’s mouth and the press of her tongue. She sucks on the head softly, moves her tongue lightly against him. Its almost a tease, but not quite: the weight of her tongue against him is too insistent to be teasing, but too light to provide real relief. He hovers somewhere between pleased and agonized and lets her do as she likes, her hand still lightly stroking his shaft while she torments him with the gentle pressure of her mouth.

He keeps his hips still and strokes the side of her face, pushing her waving red hair back behind her ear and enjoying the sight of his cock in her mouth. Her eyes are closed, concentrating on the task at hand, and as he watches she pulls fully off his cock. She kisses the tip almost chastely, takes a breath, and slowly takes the full length of him into her mouth. Kira licks along the shaft, easing his way, and comes to rest with her nose pressed against his sparse pubic hair, doing an admirable job of suppressing whatever small amount of gag reflex she possesses. She is still for a moment while Solas’ breath comes in pants, resisting the beautiful urge to thrust his hips, eager for her to move, for any kind of release of the torturous pleasure she seems able to exact even when she’s on her knees and supposedly serving _him_ —and then Kira swallows around him.

Solas bites back a curse. His hand tightens in her hair. His control begins to fray and he considers the merits of simply ordering her to lie back on the bed and fucking her until they forget their names and titles.

Kira moves, then, sliding her mouth up and down his cock with a hypnotic rhythm that leaves Solas distantly wishing he’d asked for her attentions while sitting down. She grips the backs of his thighs and uses his own body for leverage as she sucks and swirls her tongue and moves her head perhaps an inch forward and back, keeping the head of his cock in the back of her throat as much as possible. Kira might do this for hours, for days—time means next to nothing to Solas at the moment—and suddenly she takes him deeply and swallows again. He does curse then, letting forth a string of beautiful, filthy elvish telling her exactly how he wants her and where and how long he’ll make her beg before he has her screaming for him.

Kira hums around him and its almost too much, almost more than Solas can bear with the woman he loves kneeling at his feet and fucking her throat with his cock.

“Vhenan,” he says, his warning tone clear. _Not like this_ , he thinks but does not say, knowing Kira understands his meaning well enough with a single word.

Kira pulls back, sliding down the length of his cock until she’s only sucking the head, and for a moment Solas thinks she might actually comply with his implied order. Then he feels one of her hands release its grip of his thigh. She wraps it around his shaft. Kira strokes every slick inch no longer cradled in the wet heat of her mouth in the swift, unrelenting rhythm that never fails to bring him speeding to his own release, her head bobbing in time with her hand until Solas knows nothing beyond her. The walls of her chambers fall away, and so do the stones of Skyhold, and the whole universe dissolves around them and only they are left, with Kira making his body sing with pleasure.

He thinks of warning her again, of telling her to stop before she makes him finish in her mouth, but he decides against it. Solas warned her once, and she knows exactly what she is doing. _Enough rope to hang herself_ , after all, and he is too selfish to deny himself this indulgence when she practically demands he accept it.

The hand not busy working him to incoherency shifts from the back of his thigh to grip his ass, kneading flesh and muscle made solid from years upon years of war and walking, and Solas’ breath catches. He hovers on the precipice of release for a long moment, moaning obscenely, unsure if she’s keeping him there and deliberately denying him his finish or if this is simply his body prolonging his pleasure. Kira makes a small sound that draws his attention and he looks down at her, sees her lips wrapped around his straining cock and her brilliant green eyes flash as she looks up at him, watching his face.

Solas comes with a groan and a hand in her hair, unable to take his eyes off hers even as she wrings wave after wave of blinding pleasure from him. Her hand gentles and her mouth relaxes around him as his orgasm fades, Kira swallowing his spend before pulling away from his slowly softening cock. Solas forces his hand to relax in her hair, trailing his fingers against the flushed skin of her cheeks.

Kira kisses his stomach, just below his navel, and sits back on her heels. She looks up at him and waits while he catches his breath.

Solas considers her. She looks perfectly obedient and dutiful, just as she knows she should look as she awaits instruction, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes that belies her submissive posture. “You were aware that I did not intend to finish in your mouth, ma sa’lath.”

She says nothing. It was not a question. But she smiles, just briefly, before schooling her expression back into what it was before.

Solas sighs, shifting back on his heels, and lets his hands fall behind his back once more, looking for all the world exactly as comfortable naked as he does in full armor. “I see. It seems you require punishment, vhenan. Stand up.”

She does, rising unsteadily to her feet—it seems her legs have fallen asleep from the way she stands, stiff and still.

“Turn around and brace your elbows on the bed,” Solas says, and finds he cannot help the way his voice lowers.

Kira’s face flushes pink and red, but she does as he says. She turns her back on Solas and bends forward, putting her elbows on the bed and lacing her fingers together. She spreads her legs a little for balance.

Solas takes a moment to admire the picture she makes. The posture she’s taken on draws attention to the muscles in her calves and thighs, the bed just low enough that her rear sticks out becomingly. Her breasts hang heavily against the side of the bed, pressed up against the soft grey sheets spilling from the bed onto the floor. Kira’s hair obscures any hint of her face like this, and Solas wonders if she’s biting her lip in anticipation of his touch.

With her legs spread as they are Solas has a clear view of the lips of her cunt, wet from the arousal the night has already ignited in her. He considers pressing his fingers into her from behind, feeling her slickness for himself rather than just admiring the sight of it. He will, he decides, but later: once he’s recovered enough from his earlier pleasure that he might replace his fingers with his cock and fuck her until her legs give out. Solas caresses the bared, creamy skin of her ass for a moment, thoughtful and pleased. “You will count, until such time as I believe you have learned your lesson. Am I understood?”

Kira shivers. “Yes, Solas.”

Solas gives her ass a squeeze, unable to resist the temptation of her well-formed cheeks, and lets his hand hover over her skin, lets anticipation linger. Then, Solas brings his hand down _hard_.  
             

 


	2. An Exacting Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up 8 months late to this story's update with Starbucks*
> 
> Despite my best efforts to wrap things up, this story will at least three chapters.

 

_Then, Solas brings his hand down **hard.**_

 

 

Solas spanks Kira just once, a swift movement over almost before it has begun, and the sound of it rings out in the Inquisitor’s chambers, seeming to linger in the air far longer than it truly does. The sound of the slap is almost as satisfying as Kira’s reaction to it, entirely instinctual as her body jerks against the surprise of his hand coming down on her soft flesh. She cries out, a soft “Ah!” that tells Solas he has not hurt her, not truly, even as she shifts forward with the motion of the blow.

Kira is quiet, then, and very still for a moment.

He wonders if this was, perhaps, too much. They have never done this before in this particular configuration, with Kira on the receiving end of a spanking, and while he’s delivered the occasional swat to her backside on other occasions the context of the act can make a world of difference. Solas smooths his hands over the small of her back, touching her in long, soothing strokes, and asks, “Are you alright, vhenan?”

She breathes out a small breath and inhales the next, turning her head slightly on her folded arms. Through the mess of her hair Solas can see that her eyes are closed. “Yes,” she says, slowly. “I’m good. This is just new for me. Its, different.”

Solas considers her, notices now her more relaxed posture and the sleepy, pleased way she’s letting words fall from her lips, and suspects she might be enjoying this more than she expected to. Still, he wants to be perfectly sure. Solas says, “We do not have to continue. Would you like to stop?”

Her eyes open and she twists enough that she can meet his gaze. “No! Please keep going.” She slides her feet slightly further apart, making her pose more solid such that he is less likely to make her rock forward into the bed on his next blow.

Solas smiles easily at her and strokes his hands over her skin once more. “Very well. Was that painful, ma sa’lath?”

“Not really,” Kira says. A little shy, she adds, “You could hit harder. I can take it.”

Solas is certain that she could, given the injuries he has watched her sustain in the various battles they have fought together. However, Solas is also certain that in two days’ time they will ride out to the Oasis so Kira can further unlock the secrets of the Temple of Solasan. He has no desire to make the journey, which they must by necessity make on horseback, more uncomfortable for Kira than it will inevitably have to be by bruising her rear with his attentions tonight. They both know some amount of healing magic, but Solas finds that it is a poor tool with which to ease soreness and other aches beneath the skin. Still, he says, “As you wish.” If she wants a harsher punishment he will give her one. If, perhaps, he reduces the number of blows he had decided to give her in compensation, Kira will never be the wiser. “Shall we begin anew?”

“Yes,” Kira says.

Solas smiles. He slides his hands off her body, letting them hang at his sides for a moment while he considers the small pink mark his first strike left on her skin. “I believe I gave you instructions to count, vhenan. Do not forget.”

She says nothing, but Solas watches her nod against her folded arms.

He does not wait this time, does not allow a moment for anticipation to grow. When his hand connects with the curve of her ass only a second later she almost jumps. She does not cry out as she did before, tight-lipped for all her surprise at his swift resumption of her punishment. “One,” she says, and immediately Solas brings his hand down again, taking care not to strike the same part of her rear twice. “Two.”

“You are doing well, vhenan,” Solas says, and lands another strike as he speaks.

She does call out this time, breathless, and barely manages to say “Three!” before he spanks her again and draws another cry from her lips. Solas hears her hands twist in the sheets, gripping them for stability. She says, “Four.”

Solas pauses to examine the glowing pink marks on her cheek left by his stinging hand, reaching out to run his palm over them and feel the heat of her skin. Kira makes a small pleased noise as he does that inspires his soft cock to throb, trying its level best to involve itself in the proceedings even though it is far too soon since he spent himself last. Solas bends down over Kira and kisses the small of her back softly, making her jerk underneath him in surprised sensation.

He draws back wordlessly and turns his attention to the cheek he has left unmarked so far and brings his hand down. Kira cries out again and says, “Five.” Solas takes his time, now, applying four more blows slowly, taking care with their strength and placement as each seems to inspire a more pronounced reaction from his lover. She cries out louder on six, shifts her weight and adjusts her grip on the sheets on seven. Kira groans when he lands the eighth slap. On nine, she moans around the one word he’s allowed her and makes it into one of the most sinful sounds Solas has ever heard.

Solas pauses again, running his hands over the five pink marks on both of her cheeks, his cock half-hard from her reactions to his attentions. He lets his touch drift lower towards her cunt and she pushes back towards his hand, seeking friction to make up for all the time she’s been left wanting tonight. Solas stills her with a hand on her back and a soft but firm, “No.” He is not finished with her punishment, not yet, but he lowers his lips to the small of her back again and makes her sigh for him.

“Solas,” she says, when he straightens up again, so quiet and loving and soft he is willing to forgive that she disobeyed his order for silence.

Truly, he is willing to forgive her any transgression. “Kira,” he answers, just as loving, “you are doing so beautifully. We are nearly finished. Can you endure more, ma sa’lath?”

“Yes,” she says.

He gives each cheek a final, resounding slap, and with Kira’s utterance of _ten_ and _eleven_ they are finished. Solas is sorely tempted to do as he had thought to do before, to part the positively dripping lips of her cunt with his fingers and touch her until she begs to any higher power she can think of for release, but he worries about her reaction to all of this. Acts such as these can be distressing in their aftermath, even if one whole-heartedly enjoys them in the moment. Solas can, he is sure, make her beg _later_. “Very good. You may relax now, vhenan.”

Kira slumps forward against the mattress, tension draining from her the instant he gives her leave to relax. Solas gets his arm underneath her trembling legs and scoops her into his arms, laying her down fully on the bed. Solas lowers himself next to her and wraps her up in his embrace. He asks, “How are you faring?”

She hums in response, a pleasant note, but there is a distant look in her eyes that makes him glad he decided to check on her.

Solas combs her hair back from her face and kisses her temple. “You are welcome to speak freely now, vhenan. I am grateful that you trusted me with this. You performed so beautifully—you are a vision, vhenan, and I can only hope you have enjoyed yourself as I have enjoyed you.” As he speaks he watches the clouds seemingly part from behind her eyes, and he strokes her hair to make sure she is fully present in this moment with him.

Kira’s mouth forms a smile, her eyebrows raising and her gaze darting tellingly toward his navel to where his cock, growing harder, presses into her side. Her amusement is an immense relief to Solas, and he strokes his hand over her hair again. Slowly, as if the words are difficult to form, Kira says, “I liked it.”

“It did not overwhelm you?”

She almost frowns, clearly considering his question, and says, “It did, a little. But in a good way.”

Solas kisses her forehead and smiles at her, his affection for her warming every inch of him. “Would you like to stop for the night? Or shall we continue?”

Kira lets out an amused breath, grinning at him again. Each time she speaks her words come a little faster, a bit more easily, and she tucks her head under his chin. “You haven’t made me come yet, so we’re not stopping.” Solas laughs. Her playful, scolding tone gives way to one of soft curiosity, asking, “Is this what it’s like for you?”

Solas recalls the sleepy, slow, returning-to-his-body sensation that he often feels when they engage like this, like waking up from a much-needed rest. How her soft words and touches keep him grounded as he returns to himself, the gentle care she always shows him on the admittedly rare occasions when he wants to be completely at her mercy. “I could not say for certain, but I expect so.”

She hums to acknowledge his words, clearly pleased when she tilts her head and presses her lips to his throat. Solas threads his fingers through her hair and draws her face up to his, kissing her softly. Kira’s warm palms press against his chest and she leans into him—she’s clearly still eager, heating up the sweet kiss he offers her, running her tongue against his bottom lip. He runs his hand down her side while they kiss, leaving a line of goosebumps in the wake of his touch, trailing his fingers from the curve of her shoulder down to the swell of her hip and slowly back up again. Kira shifts to put her arms around him as best she can while lying on her side. Solas worries her lip gently between his teeth and slips his tongue into her mouth.

Solas cannot truly taste himself on her lips, not after so long, but the thought of it is enough to distract him such that when Kira’s leg hooks over his hip he does not immediately realize her intentions. No—it is not until Kira pushes up onto her hands that Solas realizes she intends to settle on top of him, and he can only offer the encouragement of shifting his body to accommodate her. She keeps kissing him, though with less finesse than before, distracted by her own choice to dictate their positions. Kira reaches between them and adjusts his cock against his stomach. She strokes him once, dragging a groan from Solas’s lips that she grins at and kisses away, and lowers herself down until his cock is trapped between his stomach and her cunt.

Kira makes a small, breathy noise, her eyes sliding shut. She plants a hand on the center of Solas’ chest and rocks her hips in an achingly slow manner that presses the head of his cock against her clit and makes her mouth drop open soundlessly. Solas grips her hips to encourage her, biting back a hiss as he gazes up at her taking her pleasure. She is _glorious_ , above him like this, rubbing herself along his shaft as a pink flush washes over her cheeks, her chest. Kira tilts her head back slightly and her red hair flows over her shoulders like water, and Solas thinks that this position might well be his favorite for the opportunity it gives him to see his lover bite her lip and furrow her brows against how _good_ she feels.

Though, Solas does prefer this sublime picture of Kira when he can _hear_ her, as well as _see_ her. At times Kira forgets herself when they make love and she quiets herself, as she is doing now. A product of most of her trysts being conducted in secret in the Circle, Solas knows. It unnerves him, as most reminders of her imprisonment in Ostwick do. Sometimes he finds himself wondering if she is unconsciously remembering the walls of that tower around her when she grows silent like this, and tries to remind her of where she is now, _who_ she is now. He raises one of his hands to cup her cheek and Kira’s green eyes flutter open and watch him in turn.

She smiles down at him and drags her cunt more firmly over his cock, unaware of how his uneasy musings about her history are washed away by that wicked twist of her lips. She smiles wider when Solas makes a soft noise at the way her hips rock against him, how her wetness leaves a slick path on his skin.

“ _Fenhedis_ ,” Solas groans, and tangles his hand in her hair to haul her down and kiss her soundly. He pulls on her hair enough to draw her head back, letting him nip at the soft skin of her throat, murmuring, “Vhenan, you are so _wet_.”

Kira grinds down against him, gasping wordlessly.

Solas leans into her and turns them, settling on top of her with his cock nested against her warm, wet lips. He plants his knees on the bed and rocks against her, getting her to moan and clutch at him and say his name. It would be so easy to slip inside her now, only an adjustment of his hips away from the bliss of their joined bodies—but he wants to taste her. Solas wants to feel the way Kira writhes and moans as he kisses and licks and touches her, and he wants her to fall apart underneath his hands.

As soon as possible, ideally.

“Kira,” Solas says, and the groan she lets out at the sound of her name delights him enormously. “Shall we continue on as we were before? With you at my mercy?”

“Yes, please,” Kira says, smiling up at him. “I’m really enjoying this.”

“As am I.” Solas kisses her. He pulls away. “I want your eyes on me, vhenan.”

“Okay,” Kira murmurs, a little breathless.

Solas kisses the side of her neck, sucking gently on her skin until she squeezes his shoulders and urges him lower, and lower. Solas kisses a well-trod path down her body, detouring slightly around her breast to suck a taught nipple into his mouth. Kira groans, throwing her head back against the sheets, and Solas pulls his mouth off her breast with a wet _pop_. “Eyes on me, vhenan,” he says, softly scolding.

“Sorry,” Kira breathes, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him better.

Solas hums and reaches up one hand to give her nipple a rough tweak that makes Kira groan, her eyes nearly fluttering closed. She recovers at the last second and maintains eye-contact. Solas could drown in her green eyes, and the way she’s looking at him he imagines she could probably drown in his eyes, too.

He continues down the trail he’d started on, sucking a small bruise into the side of her full breast as he goes. Kira moans, so loud Solas has half a thought that someone somewhere in his castle might hear them, and the thought is leagues headier than the ale they drank earlier, or any wine he's ever sampled. Solas presses his lips to her soft stomach, his blissful exhale making the muscles of her stomach jump and contract. He kisses a path down, down to the dark, coarse hair above her sex.

Solas has been a painter for longer than any of Ferelden’s great works of art have existed, and he admires the way the dark hair between her legs frames the lips of Kira’s cunt in the candlelight. If they were just a man and a woman, if they could leave behind their titles and obligations forever, Solas would paint this sight a thousand times until he could capture perfectly the dusky pink of her lips and the deeper reds beyond it. He would dedicate her small hands gripping their sheets to canvas and paper and stone, and use a thousand brush-strokes to detail how she sits up on her elbows to watch him between her legs. He kisses the inside of her thigh, almost chaste, and meets her green eyes across the beautiful expanse of her body.

Kira smiles at him. He loves her, and he feels his love for her so intensely for a moment that he stills, unable to will himself to move while his heart burns in his chest. He _loves_ her. He will one day have to leave her, but he loves her and in this moment they are together, and Solas forces himself not to dwell on how fleeting this moment is. He leans forward and places an open-mouthed kiss on her clit, and Kira’s head falls back with a blissful sigh. He loves that sound—he laves his tongue against her to hear it again, and hums when she does.

“Look at me,” he commands, and Kira lifts her head and does. Her eyes roam over his face, and he can almost feel the path they leave on his skin: trailing from his blue eyes down the proud line of his nose to his full lips, lingering there. Then tracing a path to the dip in his chin, then along his jaw, up to his pointed ears and then, slowly, back to his eyes.

“I love you,” she says.

Solas lowers his mouth to her clit again and applies a series of slow back-and-forth strokes to the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes Kira writhe and groan and clutch at his bald head with her blunt nails. She keeps her eyes open, her hand finding his ear and caressing it, and Solas loves her for this: she cleaves close to the commands he gives her, for all obedience is something she’s fought against for most of her adult life. The trust she shows him in acquiescing to his requests is staggering, and Solas knows he is not worthy of it, but he endeavors to be with every breath that he breathes against her warm cunt and every word that he speaks softly into the relative silence between them.

He wants to make her fall apart, and he drives single-mindedly towards that goal—he touches her exactly as he’s learned she likes, easing first one finger and then two into her warm, wet core. She clenches around him, and he takes this as his cue to apply more attention to her clit, sucking and running his tongue against it while Kira struggles, increasingly, to keep her eyes on him. Solas can barely keep his own eyes open to see if she’s keeping to his commands, so intoxicated is he by the responsiveness of her body, curling his fingers inside her to hear her cry out his name. His cock is trapped between his body and the bed and he rolls his hips to relieve some of his own desire. It is a useless effort: surrounded by her musky scent, lips and chin wet with her pleasure, the only way his arousal would ease is if she pushed him away.

“Solas,” she nearly whines, and isn’t that a beautiful feeling: the most important woman in the world crying out his name, begging him to have mercy on her and bring her to a roaring finish with his tongue and fingers. He can feel her winding tighter and tighter as he strokes her clit with his tongue and curls his fingers inside her, almost as desperate as she is to help her reach a release. “Solas,” she gasps, again, and Solas groans even as he keeps his tongue moving against her.

Solas remembers himself and opens his eyes, testing his lover, but she’s still looking at him: her eyes are barely open, one hand on the top of Solas’ head and the other wound up in her own hair. “Touch yourself,” Solas says, taking a breath, and the hand she’d planted on his head finds her breast and grabs it more roughly than Solas would ever dream to. He returns his mouth to her cunt, keeping his eyes on her. She groans, the steady stream of sounds she’s been making growing to a fevered pitch. Solas watches her work her nipple between two rough fingers, watches the hand buried in her own hair pulling lightly, watches her stiffen, aching, panting as he pushes her closer and closer to climax.

He curls his fingers inside her just-so and traces one more circle over her clit, and Kira nearly yells as she comes. He keeps touching her through the aftermath, slowing the path of his tongue and stilling his fingers entirely as she shudders against him and gasps and whines. Her eyes close briefly as she crests over the precipice, but he finds he cannot fault her for this because she opens them as soon as she’s able afterwards, her gaze finding his for all she’s clearly not _seeing_ him. Solas coaxes her gently through her orgasm, appreciating the way her entire body heaves as she pants after the exquisite pleasure he was able to wring from her.

Kira comes down softly, gasping for air, her hands moving back to his head to lightly stroke his skin as she works to regulate her breathing. He eases his mouth off her clit, eases his fingers from her body, and kisses the inside of one thigh and then the other. He rests his head against her leg and smiles up at her.

“Fuck,” she sighs.

Solas laughs.

“Come here,” Kira says, and crooks her finger at him, and Solas does.


End file.
